


Shots

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Body Shots, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had a request for Grantaire doing body shots off Enjolras. Modern AU, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shots

"Shots, shots, shots!" Courfeyrac yelled delightedly as they entered the bar, running over to order a round for them, and Combeferre shook his head as he followed the other man forwards.

"Calm down." He said over the music, and Courfeyrac just  _giggled_ , the sound mischievous in a way that always served as a warning sign to Combeferre on a night like this.

They all settled around two tables to the side of the bar, drinking, laughing. It was when Courfeyrac ordered tequila and told Grantaire excitedly they should find some girls to do body shots off of, the latter laughing and grinning, than Enjolras spoke for the first time since they’d entered the bar.

"Body shots?" He repeated, perplexed, and Bahorel and Jehan gave an "oooooh" together before each knocking back bright green shot glasses, and Enjolras stared at them. He was seated between Combeferre and Bossuet, shoulders hunched and knees pressed together where he settled there.

Grantaire had no idea why he’d chosen to come when he looked so uncomfortable and wasn’t even drinking, but he understood that Enjolras probably didn’t want to miss out on his friends’ happiness all the same.

"Body shots, my good man-" Grantaire began, but Courfeyrac put a hand on his chest, stopping him short, and Feuilly laughed a little. 

"I dare you to do a body shot off him."

"Courfeyrac!" Grantaire protested, and Feuilly turned to the baffled blond.

"Body shots involve salting a partner’s skin, and putting a piece of lime in their mouth. You take a shot of tequila, drag your tongue over the salt and remove the lime from their mouth with your own."

"Oh."

"I dare the both of you."

"I don’t take your stupid dares, Courfeyrac." Enjolras said sharply, and Courfeyrac took up a smug, clever sound.

"I bet you the week’s meals that you can’t let him take a shot off you." Enjolras’ lip quivered. Courfeyrac, despite all appearances, was a spectacular cook. Despite this, he usually point-blank refused to cook in their apartment, for himself and Enjolras and Combeferre, more than once a month.

"A week?" Enjolras repeated. "God damn it." He muttered under his breath, and Grantaire flushed.

"I never said  _I’d_  do it!” Courfeyrac murmured something in his ear than Enjolras couldn’t catch, and the artist elbowed him hard in the shoulder.

"I’ll do it." Feuilly said, shooting Grantaire a look of challenge that was teasing enough, but Grantaire broke anyway.

"Fine." Grantaire said, affecting Feuilly with a distinct glare, but the working man just beamed at him before pulling Courfeyrac into his lap when he stood, and Grantaire’s stare softened.

"You gotta let me get the tequila, Feuilly."

"I’ll let you get the tequila if you get shots for me and you." Courfeyrac’s teeth were white as he grinned. 

"Deal deal!" And he tapped Feuilly’s face affectionately as he stood, moving over to the bar with a slight stumble already.

"I am not carrying him home this evening." Combeferre muttered, and Feuilly chuckled.

"I’ll do it." He said good-naturedly. "Shirt off, Enjolras." The blond carefully set about unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a flat chest with barely a hair on it, and a yet flatter stomach with a dusting of golden hair (that was perhaps softer than it should have been, but Enjolras just didn’t have time for exercising his abdominal muscles on his schedule).

Grantaire regarded him with parted lips, and Enjolras managed to grin at him. He laid himself over the table at Feuilly’s direction, and Courfeyrac returned  without his shirt grasping a bottle and a plate laid with lime pieces and a container of salt, passing the bottle to Grantaire before immediately dipping and catching Feuilly’s mouth in a quick kiss, earning a surprised groan from the other brunet’s mouth as he leaned into it.

Grantaire poured a shot into his glass, and then he laid salt over Enjolras’ navel, putting the lime in the other man’s mouth and finding himself more than a little affected by the way he clasped the citrus with his teeth.

He took the shot with a wince, leaning to drag his tongue over the salt, and Enjolras released a high-pitched yelp, sitting up as soon as Grantaire put his lips to Enjolras’ and clumsily took the line, putting his hand on his stomach. “Dear God.” He muttered, and Grantaire chuckled at him around the lime in his mouth before dropping it into his hand.

"S’good, right? You wanna try?" Enjolras’ cheeks were flushed as he handed the bottle to Courfeyrac, who poured Feuilly more tequila than really had business in such a little glass. 

"I’ve not had tequila before." Enjolras muttered to Grantaire, and the drunkard regarded him, momentarily having what he considered the best,  _best_  idea possible in the whole wide world.

"Really? Let me show you how it tastes." Grantaire said, and then his hand was in Enjolras’ hair and his lips were on the blond’s, and Enjolras was leaning into his mouth as Grantaire’s tongue dragged over the roof of Enjolras’, making him let a choked moan. When he drew back, Enjolras looked dazed, and Grantaire had not the grace to look the slightest bit guilty.

"Good?" He asked, and Enjolras raised his eyebrows at him. 

"Surprisingly so." He allowed. "But you know, I am an empirical man, Grantaire, and whilst there is something to be said for evidence, there is yet more to be said for repeated experimentation." And then Enjolras was straddling his lap as he caught Grantaire’s mouth again, and Grantaire was laughing and then so was Enjolras. They drew apart both grinning, Grantaire’s turn to be dazed out of his mind.

"Come home with me!" He demanded, and Enjolras leaned to murmur in his ear, "Not until I get to do a shot off you." and Grantaire’s cheeks were flushed almost as much as the other man’s, both of them giggling.

Feuilly gave a yelp, and both of them turned to regard him with his hands on Courfeyrac’s lapel. “If you want to cup my crotch like that, we can go home  _now_. Scar all our friends, why don’t you!”

"Fine, your place, my dick, your dick, let’s  _go_.” Courfeyrac returned easily, and Combeferre put his face in his hands, laughing, as Feuilly picked Courfeyrac up bridal style and carried him out. 

Enjolras watched them go. And then, he pressed his lips to Grantaire’s for another kiss, because it was warm and comfortable and Grantaire’s lips felt good, and if Combeferre was already flustered with one room-mate there was no shame in adding to the pile.


End file.
